


Inside The Wardrobe (ABANDONED UNTIL FUTURE NOTICE)

by fuckityfrank



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Chapters 3 and 4 involve blood but no real violence, Horror (kind of), M/M, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:54:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckityfrank/pseuds/fuckityfrank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Iero is forced to move into an old house complete with bad smell, and ugly old furniture. He makes himself at home in the attic until the ornate black wardrobe in the corner starts doing strange things. When I say strange, I mean thumping back when you kick it, and opening itself despite being locked. When the wardrobe opens it's doors to Frank, he's met with adventure after adventure in the strange and twisting passages. He knows there's something important to find inside it, and he's determined to figure out what.</p><p>(Check beginning notes for an update on the story)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Click [ HERE](http://www.homesdirect365.co.uk/french-furniture-487/bedroom-562/beds-46/rochelle-antique-french-double-17438-9692_zoom.jpg) for an image of the wardrobe that I pictured when I wrote this story!
> 
> I got some ideas for this work from the book House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski.
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://fr4nkie.co.vu)?
> 
> UPDATE: So I haven't touched this in nearly a year, despite promising to finish it. The majority of my excuse is that I've started college, and the second half is that I've been dealing with some other brutal, personal stuff and my laptop haRd drive crashed.

Frank is about ready to scream. Not only was he forced into moving to a crappy old house in the middle of nowhere, the interior is ugly as hell, it has a weird smell like mildew and ass, and the walls of his bedroom are painted a revolting olive green color that make him want to rip chunks out of them.

There’s still old furniture in the room that, he had figured out earlier, is bolted down and can't be moved without causing structural damage to the walls and floor. In his room there is a 40 year old vanity with cracked rose paint. Despite not being that old, it still looks like it’s about to crumble into ash. Or maybe it’s just the layer of dust covering it... Lucky him. Frank looks at it in disgust and kicks at a box of his unpacked belongings. He’s the only person who hasn’t started actually moving in yet. Currently, the only thing in the room that isn't in a box is his pillow and his comforter, which lay in a heap on his bed.

The one good thing about his room, is that it houses a hatch for a pull down staircase. After a quick bout of curiosity fueled investigating, he had quickly found out that it leads to the attic. The attic ceiling is low, but what the room lacks in height, it makes up for in area. This doesn't concern Frank. With his short stature, he fits pretty well.

The only room in the house Frank has any intention of ever liking is the attic. When they first started unloading their things, he went up there and dusted down the walls and most of the flat surfaces. Then he had left the attic swirling with dust specks to _very carefully_ bring in his posters. After the initial viewing of the house turned up no alternative to his hideous room, he'd decided that the best thing to do, considering his limited options, would be to move his favored belongings into the attic and reside there. So that’s where he would be putting his posters, a small tv, and his comic collection.

He strides across his bedroom and stands on his tip toes to reach the cord allowing him to pull down the stairs. He gives the rope a few sharp tugs until the staircase unfolds and he is able to climb up.

Frank places his hands on his hips, surveying the room. The dust has settled since his last excursion. Stacked in the corner behind him, a few boxes full of old shit lurk, prodding at his curiosity. He curbs it for now. Looking across to the far right corner of the room, he spots an incredibly detailed, black wardrobe. Based on the aged look it sports, he assumes it is probably bolted down like all the rest of the older furniture. With a beanbag chair, a lamp, and his comic collection to fill the space, he figures he could probably almost enjoy spending his time up here. He might even put that old wardrobe to use.

It looks ridiculously out of place in the messy attic, sporting ornate, hand carved detailing. Despite the coat of dust layering it, the finish underneath is still shiny. He walks towards it to see if there's anything interesting inside. He pulls gently on the knobs. When this does nothing he tries putting more force behind his pull. Despite his valiant effort, it remains shut. Stepping back, he looks at it again. When he does, he realizes it has a keyhole and is locked shut.

“Useless.” He grunts, and taps it with his foot.

Moments later he hears an echoing thump. “Mom?” He calls towards the unfolded staircase leading to his room.

“Are you down there?”

There’s no response. He frowns and kicks the wardrobe again. No echoing thump, nothing. He turns around to go back down stairs. He halts in place when he hears it again. THUMP.

“Alright what the fuck.” He whispers, and kicks it a third time.

He counts to 7 before he hears the thump again.  Frightened, he tries to tug open the doors. Trying to convince himself that it’s just a mouse or some other small rodent that has trapped itself inside, he stops tugging on the doors. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, clearing his mind before tromping back down the stairs. He's a man on a mission. Grabbing a box full of comic books, he hoists it above his head with one arm, and holds onto the stairs with the other. Carefully, he makes his way up. Setting the box down on the attic floor, he climbs all the way up the stairs, and bends to pick it up again. Seconds later he promptly drops it with a shout.

The doors to the wardrobe that had been locked moments before, are now standing open and Frank can feel cool air emanating towards him. As weird as it sounds, the wardrobe appears to have no back. Frank stiffly moves towards it. Logically all he would have to do is put his hand inside and he would feel the wood backing of the piece of furniture. However, the closer he steps, the more unease he feels. Instead of seeing a back, it’s almost as if there’s just a large open space. That of course would be entirely impossible, especially considering that behind the wardrobe is a wall and behind that wall is a 25 foot drop the front lawn outside.

He stares down the corridor for a moment, reluctant to put his hand into the cold dark space. It's seconds before he sees something move.

“Oh _fuck_ no!”

He kicks the wardrobe doors shut and puts the heavy box of comics in front of it just in case.

“Nope!” He shouts as he runs back down the stairs.

“Hell fucking no!” He yells down the hall and into his mom’s room.

He skids to a stop in front of her and looks up into her worried gaze.

“Mom the wardrobe was locked and then I went up and it was open and there was no back and I think there's something inside it like-”

She shushes him and grabs his shoulders. “Frank, honey, stop. Calm down, and tell me what on earth you are talking about!”

Frank takes a breath and speaks as evenly as he can.

“I was in the attic and there is a wardrobe in the corner up there. When I tried to open it, I couldn't because it was locked. So I went back down into my room and grabbed a box of my comics so I could read up there, and when I got up, the wardrobe was open and there was like a breeze coming from it. I know this sounds weird... but it also looked like it might lead off somewhere else. And...I saw something move.”

Linda laughs. “You have such a vivid imagination!”

“Mom what the fuck?”

She glares at him. “ _Language_ Frank!”

He rolls his eyes. “Sorry... But seriously this isn’t a joke. Come see!”

She sighs. “Alright but quickly, I'm trying to finish my unpacking.”

He runs back down the hall to his room and already has the staircase down by the time she gets there.

“Come on hurry up.”

He scales the stairs and looks down them. His mom is glaring up at him.

“You have to come up here to see it.”

He stands up and looks at the wardrobe.

“Mom!”

She pokes her head into the attic. Comic books are scattered all over the floor.

“Frank you made a mess already!”

“No mom it wasn't me! Remember I told you that I left the box in front of the wardrobe! Now it’s knocked over and my comics are all over the place!”

She gives him a sideways glance and climbs all the way up into the attic.

"What do you want me to believe Frank? That something came out of the wardrobe, silently trashed the attic, and went back inside it? All in the time it took you to tell me about it?”

Frank stops and thinks for the first time, about how bad this sounds.

“Umm... Yes?”

His mom gives him a dubious look.

“Okay look! I’ll show you!” He runs over to the wardrobe and tugs on the doors. They won’t budge.

“No no no no no!”

Linda moves to walk back down the staircase.

“This isn’t funny.”

Frank grabs her arm and stop her.

“No Mom, I promise I’m not lying!

“Frank I really don't have time for this.”

She throws him a disappointed look, pulling her arm free, and heads toward the stairs.

“Mom!”

He can hear her heels clicking down the hall.

"What the fuck!” He shouts, and kicks the wardrobe. 

Angry tears well up in his eyes. He’s upset that his mom doesn’t believe him and he’s pissed as hell that something trashed his comics. _Something, or some one_ , his mind supplies. 

Gently, he starts picking them up and placing them individually back in their box. He physically jumps when the wardrobe thumps several minutes later without him touching. He hastens his cleaning but doesn't flee. He’s too angry to be completely afraid.

“Fuck off,” he whispers toward it.

Despite being upset, he is still absolutely unnerved when it thumps at him again. He grumbles inaudibly at the apparently sentient wardrobe or whatever is in it and finishes tidying. Shuddering, he slides his comics into the furthest corner from the wardrobe and trudges back downstairs, slamming the hatch shut once he’s down.

He flops backwards onto his bed and glares up at the ceiling. He might have a vivid imagination, but he _isn't_ a liar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank explores the boxes in the attic left behind by the previous owners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the strong response to the first chapter! Comments are greatly appreciated! I have Chapter 3 written and its short but intense *mysterious look* I will probably update on the 16th.

When Frank opens his eyes it's dark. He’s disoriented at first, unaware of where he is or what time it is. It doesn't take long for last night's move to dawn on him and he slams his head against the bed. He groans and wonders what time it actually is, making a mental note to unpack his alarm clock soon. He crawls off his mattress and dicks around in the dark until he finds the light switch and flips it on. Squinting around, he spots the staircase and shudders. It's open and he can see a faint patch of attic illuminated by his bedroom light. He must have forgotten to close it last night. He grimaces and slams it shut. There’s no way he’s going up there in the middle of the night.

Or, well, maybe there is...

Frank exits his room and creeps down the hall, sneaking through the living room towards the fireplace. He snatches up the fire poker. Testing the weight of the iron in his hand makes him feel more secure. He ignores the voice in the back of his head that tells him he would still be completely vulnerable against anything supernatural. He crosses the room and a quick peek in the kitchen shows the stove blinking 3:37am at him. He can't be sure know how accurate it is. He passes by the kitchen on his way to the other side of the living room and digs through the pile of boxes until he locates one labeled _GARAGE_ in his mom's all-capital scrawl. He pulls open the flaps and sifts through shit until he feels the cold plastic handle of a giant yellow flashlight against his hand. 

The flashlight is a necessity considering attic is only equipped with a small, bare bulb that hangs in the corner farthest from the wardrobe. It works fine during the day when there is natural light streaming through the window, but in the dead of night it doesn't even illuminate the other side of the room. He tiptoes back to his bedroom and quietly shuts his door behind him. Crossing the threshold, he winces when the stairs creak in agitation at being unfolded yet again in such a short amount of time. It must feel like over kill after being left unused for so many years. He smirks at himself for that bizarre line of thought. Clicking on the flashlight, he sets it, and the fire poker, on the attic floor above him and climbs up after them.

Once he’s in the attic, he gathers his things and shines the light towards the wardrobe. Aside from some scuff marks in the bottom corner, made by himself when he kicked it repeatedly, there is a set of finger marks lined in the dust on the edge of one of the doors. It looks as if someone climbed inside and pulled the door shut behind them. Frank shivers and walks closer, apprehension curling in his gut. Any sane human would bolt the wardrobe shut and never enter the attic again, but Frank is not a sane human being. Obsessed with all things horror movie and adrenaline inducing, the wardrobe fascinates him.

  
He takes a huge breath and gently pulls on one of the doors. And then the other. And then he sets down his flashlight and fire poker and pulls on both doors.

  
“Shit.”

He yanks hard on both knobs. The weird thing, or well another weird thing, about it is that the wardrobe doesn't even move. If you pulled on the doors of any other wardrobe it would rattle or shake come away from the wall, but not this one. This wardrobe doesn't move the slightest bit or make any noise. Frank digs his heels into the wooden floor and pulls on the wardrobe as hard as he can. Still nothing. The handles don't even move when he tries rattling them.

He halts his efforts and stares at the taunting black finish. He’d accidentally smudged one of the finger marks in the dust. He picks up his flashlight and directs the beam of light at them. There is no mistaking it’s a hand. He can clearly make out first, middle, and ring fingers, as well as a tiny smudge of pinky. Twisting his wrist backwards, he tries to line his fingers up with it. Whoever, or whatever, he reminds himself, left these marks has hands slightly larger than his own. He shivers again and is struck with an idea. He picks up the poker (just in case) and then kicks the base of the wardrobe. Stepping back, he waits.

Nothing.

He kicks it again, harder.

What feels like a full 10 minutes later, there's still no response.

Disappointed, he turns his back to the wardrobe and walks towards the dusty boxes in the corner instead. He sits down criss cross applesauce in the dust and sets down the flashlight and the poker, pulling one of the cardboard boxes towards him. When he opens the flaps he is disappointed to find the first box is filled with old Christmas junk. He kicks it aside and pulls another one forward. It’s crammed with old Halloween costumes. Frank sorts through it and finds an old, well-used, fake blood recipe and a creeptastic old hospital gown. The cheap white material is covered in a crusty, rust colored substance. Frank assumes (and hopes) it's fake. Whoever made it did an amazing job. He sets that in a pile for things to keep and kicks the rest of the crap next the Christmas box.

Out of nowhere, as hes reaching for the third box, he gets the overwhelming feeling that something is about to grab his shoulder. He freezes for a few moments, waiting for it to happen before he risks a glance behind him. The only thing there is the wardrobe. It's doors remain silent and unmoving like usual, so he goes back to the boxes. When he pulls the third box over, he hits a gold mine. It's packed with records. He carefully slides one out and reads the title.

“Bad Music For Bad People by The Cramps.” He whispers aloud as he reads, an annoying habit that's stuck with him since grade school.

He chuckles and pulls out another.

“Curse of the Coffin by Nekromantix.”

He flicks through the records and pulls out ‘Supersadomasochisticexpialidocious by Elvis Hitler’. Whoever owned this collection had bad ass taste in music! While he considers where to get money and a record player, he takes all the records out and arranges them so that the more interesting ones are in the front and the ones he's not super thrilled about in the back. Once finished, he uses his foot to carefully push it towards the balled up hospital gown.

Frank grabs the second to last box and is absolutely delighted to find a dusty, well-loved, vintage record player with the record ‘Bail Was Set at $6,000,000 by Batmobile’ still inside it. For the sake of the glorified image of the previous owner he now has in his head, he pretends not to know it's bad to leave records in the player. He wants _oh so badly_ to pop in a record and see if it still works. Seeing as it's probably around 4:00 am, he isn't going to risk his mother's wrath. 

It is filled with photo albums and yearbooks. The pictures seem to document the lives of two brothers. He takes out the first baby picture to check the back for names. It reads ‘Gerard Arthur Way born April 9th, 1969’. The next few are of the same baby. He finds another newborn picture and takes it out, the back reads ‘Michael James Way, born September 10th, 1972’ in the same handwriting as the other picture.

  
He skips through the pages of baby pictures in the beginning of the album to the photos of the kids as children and then teenagers. Frank looks at the older brother carefully. He never seems very..present in any of the pictures. As he ages he becomes quite attractive.

There's one picture that really grabs Frank. It’s a candid of the older brother lounging in a chair, dressed up in a suit. What strikes Frank the most is his expression. He’s staring out a window with a complacent expression, yet something tells Frank he’s not feeling very complacent. There's a look about the boy’s eyes that seems sorrowful. Frank takes out the photograph and looks at the back but there’s no description. He puts the picture in his pocket. The next page of the photo album is the last time he sees Gerard in any of the pictures.

After that, there’s one more page filled with Michael and a few of the parents but Gerard doesn't appear in any of the photographs. Not even family pictures. Confused, Frank flips back thinking he missed something, but he finds no explanation. He takes out the last picture of Gerard. He’s sitting in a hammock with a book in his hand and a solemn expression. The back says ‘Gerard, Summer of 88’. Frank slides the photograph back in it's plastic sleeve and puts away the photo albums. He wonders why they left all of their pictures and things here. He rubs his eyes and stifles a yawn. Despite his long nap, he's still tired from the move. He pulls the box of records into the center of the attic and sets the record player next to them.

  
"First thing tomorrow." he promises himself as he collects his flashlight and fire poker, turns off the dim attic light, and walks back down the stairs into his bedroom. He sets the light and the fire poker down next to each other on a box by his bed. It takes about 10 minutes of digging through at least 3 separate boxes full of shit until he actually finds his alarm clock. This victory is followed by another search, this time for his cell, which he hasn't seen since before the fight with his mom.

Frustrated and tired, he finds his phone under his comforter after finally giving up and crawling into bed. So he climbs back out, sets his alarm clock and places it next to the flashlight on the makeshift side-table by his bed. 

He doesn’t bother finding pajamas, he just strips down to his underwear and remembers the photo he'd sequestered. He carefully picks the picture out of the pile of jeans on the floor and sets it next to the alarm clock.

It’s 5:07am when he finally fixes his covers and actually crawls in bed. He sets his alarm for 9:00am despite the short amount of sleep this will give him. There’s a box of records that desperately needs his attention and a creepy wardrobe he needs to get open, preferably with daylight present...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wardrobe opens for Frank but it's really not the best experience.
> 
> WARNING: While there isn't Major Depictions of Violence there is GORE. If you are uncomfortable with gore please stop reading after Frank enters the wardrobe! IF you are afraid of missing things dont worry about it, Frank summarizes his experience in a conversation that takes place in chapter 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be updating until maybe Monday (12/22/14) I won't have internet access until then but I'm not sure how much I will get done considering I will get home late.

Frank is violently shaken awake.

"Frank get up! You have school today!" His mom says, exasperated.

“Nooooo.” He groans, stretching and burrowing deeper under the covers.

She pulls his comforter back and he whines at the sudden lack of warmth. “Don't take my covers! What if I was naked under there?!”

“Since when do you sleep naked?”

“I don't but-”

“Exactly. Get your lazy butt out of bed.”

“Mom it’s a Thursday! I don't want to start at a new school on a Thursday. Can’t I start Monday?”

“No it’s required by law that you be there.”

“I’m sick?” He tries with a grimace.

“Franklin Anthony Ie-” She begins.

“Wait wait wait! What if I spend the day unpacking my room and moving all those boxes into the garage?”

She pauses.

“Mom please.”

“Fine.” She sighs, “But when I get back from work, there better be a significant amount of work done. And you _are_ going to school on Monday, no arguments.”

“I promise.”

“Good.”

“What time will you be back?”

“I’m not sure. Around 5:00 I think. There’s a box of cereal and stuff to make a sandwich in the fridge. I’ll bring dinner home and get actual groceries tomorrow.” She says as she kisses his head on her way out of his room.

“Bye! Have fun at work.” He calls sarcastically.

“Have fun hauling around boxes.” She returns with just as much sarcasm.

Shortly after, Frank hears her keys jangle and the front door open and shut.

He looks at his alarm clock; it is 7:46 am. He has plenty of time.

~~~~~

Frank grabs the same pair of jeans he wore yesterday and the first T-shirt  he sees in dresser. He knows there are towels in the bathroom already. He dashes down the hall and cleans off as fast as he can, quickly scrubbing everything and shampooing his hair. He’s set a record for his fastest shower, only taking 6 minutes to get clean, despite how wonderful the steamy water felt on his sore muscles.

He hops out and towels off his hair and body before throwing on black jeans. The t-shirt he grabbed was a red shirt he had made for spirit day at his last school. The front read ‘Homophobia is gay” across it in his neatest handwriting. He pulls the shirt over his head and doesn't bother to do anything with his hair. He knows it’s a mess but he doesn't really care.

As soon as he's showered and dressed, he heads up into the attic to play some of the records. He takes the time to hoist his blankets, pillows, and an extra sleeping bag into the attic. He plans on making a nest to curl up in while he listens. Except when he drops his blankets and heads towards where he left the records, they aren't there.

“For fucks sake!”

He digs through the boxes again and lifts his blankets searching for the mysteriously vanished boxes.

“How in the fuck does an entire record player and a box filled with records go missing?” He ponders aloud and freezes when he hears a chuckle.

“I’m not going to call ‘hello’ like the idiot who gets killed first in the movies.” He says cautiously and listens. Nothing.

“I’m getting sick of the games. I’m not afraid.” Pausing he listens again. “And now I’m talking to myself. Great.”

Frank walks back towards the blanket pile and the other boxes when he feels a cold breeze on his back. He take a shallow breath and turns around. The wardrobe is open. He walks towards it and sticks his arm inside. The air is frigid where his hand is swallowed. As he looks at his arm, the wardrobe creates this creepy distortion effect. It's kind of like when you look at your limbs under water in a lake after the sun has disappeared and they look distorted and brackish green.

Tentatively he speaks. “If I go get a jacket and a flashlight will this still be open?”

No response.

He turns around and jogs down the stairs. He runs around the house, ardently putting on his shoes, winter coat, and grabbing a hastily made sandwich. He'd skipped breakfast. He throws a bottle of water, a pocket knife, a compass, and the sandwich into his bag. Then he changes his mind and puts the pocket knife in his coat. Running back through his room, he grabs his cell phone, the flashlight, and the fire poker and runs up into the attic. He checks his watch. It’s 8:03 am. He still has plenty of time until his mom gets home.

Inexplicably, the doors are still open. With a backpack on his back, a flashlight in one hand, and a fire poker in the other, he stands facing the entrance. He clicks on the flashlight, takes a deep breath, and steps inside the wardrobe.

The corridor is huge. His voice echoes in the space and he assumes it’s about the size of an airport landing strip. His flashlight hardly cuts into the darkness at all. He looks behind him to make sure the wardrobe doors leading into the attic are still open.

“Sure would be nice if those doors stayed open.” He announces into the echoing cavern with a comically strained voice.

He tentatively steps forward into the darkness. He must get to the other side of the cavern and follow the wall so he doesn't get lost. Warily, he walks toward the wall on the right side of the cavern. Upon reaching the wall, he continues onward, hoping to find a source of light or a doorway. Really he doesn't care, as long as it’s different than this cold, light swallowing darkness. However, he’s doubtful about finding anything.

When it feels like it’s been 5 minutes, he checks his watch. It still says 8:03 and the hands aren't moving. Strange. He turns back towards to the entrance of the attic. The entrance looks smaller because of the distance. Deciding that if he can still see the entrance he hasn’t gotten very far at all, he pushes forward, brushing the wall with his shoulder every so often.

Without warning, the wall by his shoulder drops away and he stumbles in the darkness. He quickly shines his light toward the new opening in the wall. It doesn't do much to illuminate it but it appears that the hallway veers off to the right. He knows that if he follows it he will lose sight of the attic entrance. " _Only a little farther._ " His mind whispers. Frank nods silently and is about to turn the corner when he feels something touch his hair. Goosebumps rise on his neck and arms and he raises the poker, slowly turning around.

There is nothing there. He turns back towards the turn in the hallway and starts to take a step when something tugs hard on his coat sleeve.

“Hey!”

He steadies himself and continues but something yanks his backpack, hard, making him stagger and fall backwards on his butt. Unnerved, he glances around. Carefully, he stands and is almost knocked over again when the entire wall starts shifting inward, directly towards to him.

“Oh Jesus Christ.”

He can't see the the ceiling or the other side of the corridor but the wall is forcing him to move forward towards it. He scrambles away, still on his knees, stops, and turns to the wall. It's creeping closer to him. He stands and pushes against it. It keeps coming solid as ever. Now, he decides, is a good time to leave the wardrobe and get started on his unpacking. He turns towards the attic and steps out towards it. About halfway there he feels eyes on him and turns around. That’s when he hears a slam and things go dark. Sudden wind rips at his clothes and then the screaming starts. Thousands of shrieks layered on top of each other deafen him and he feels like throwing up. But it’s nothing compared to what came next.

Abruptly, Frank can see clearly and he wishes he couldn’t. The walls that were bare before, are now covered in viscera and gore. He starts booking it towards the attic as fast as his legs can carry him, but he slips in something. When he looks down he shouts. Huge pools of dark blood appear to be rising quickly. He runs harder splashing in the blood as the wind buffets against him, but the entrance to the attic isn't getting any closer. The screaming continues as rivers of blood flow over his feet, some waves as high as his knees. There is sobbing and wailing mixing with the shrieks of pain and horror. All he can see is red. Thick drops of red splash down against his face from above. The streams of blood reach up to his waist.

He’s sure he's screaming too but he can’t hear himself over the rush of wind, blood, and wailing. He’s starting to panic now. The blood level is quickly rising higher and it’s up to his chest now. He starts half swimming half splashing through the blood towards where he last saw the exit. His frame is wracked with sobs and he’s swimming now. The blood is past his chin and its getting in his mouth. Something grabs his leg and he tries to scream but he’s tugged under.

He's completely submerged in the blood, the coppery taste making him gag and choke. Struggling, he tries to rip his foot free of the vice grip surrounding it, but it’s no use. He’s held tight, unable to clearly tell up from down, completely submerged in the gore. He holds his breath as long as he can before he gives up the last of his last air with a futile scream that fills his mouth with blood. He wonders if his mom will ever find him. The last thing he sees is a blurry image of black hair directly in front of him, highly obscured by the thick blood in his eyes. He has barely a second to wonder whether there was even anything there at all, then he loses consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Frank wakes up there's a startling lack of blood...

A scream is still in his throat when he wakes up on the attic floor, his mother cradling his head in her lap and worry in her eyes.

“Frank honey hush you’re alright.” She runs her fingers through his hair and shushes him softly. “You’re okay, calm down.”

Frank is lying on the floor possibly in shock, finding it increasingly difficult to stay calm as the memories of the past hour flood him. He’s breathing rapidly, struggling to get air and he can't feel his hands.

But he can't just lay there he has to get up. He has to warn his mom. He doesn't even know how he got back into the attic. He sits up fast, his vision swimming, and looks towards the wardrobe with fear in his eyes. It’s closed and written in the dust on the left door is ‘oops’. To Frank it feels like a threat. His mother follows his gaze.

“What happened Frankie?” She asks carefully.

“I..I can't.” His breathing falters and then he's hyperventilating, tears spring to his eyes and tumble down his cheeks.

She pulls him to her chest and smoothes his hair. “Shhh It’s going to be okay.” She rocks him and hums until his breathing quiets and the tears slow. When he’s calm she speaks again. “It’s been a while since you've had one of those. What happened baby?”

He thinks briefly about the last time he had a panic attack. It wasn't that long ago at all. It was the day he learned they were moving. He pushes that out of his mind and looks up at his mom.

“Even if I told you, you would never believe me.”

“You don't know that.”

“Yeah I do. You didn’t believe me about the wardrobe opening.”

“How could I? There was no proof and the idea is absolutely absurd!”

“But it happened.” He says with a glare.

“Okay maybe it did. It’s just… a little hard to believe.”

He frowns at her. “I’m going to tell you the truth but even if you don’t believe me, promise you won’t make me go back to therapy. I’ve been doing well and I don’t need it.”

She looks at him warily. “I can't promise that Frank. How do I know that moving didn't cause another upstart?”

“I’m trying to get used to it. It’s barely been 3 days here. Just give me a chance.” He asks pleadingly.

Linda looks at him carefully, considering. “Alright I promise.”

Frank starts his story with the wardrobe opening and explains in detail the dark corridor and the sudden turn. He tells her about how something pushed him over and wouldn't let him follow the corridor. Pausing in his story he looks up at her to judge her reaction.

Her expression is guarded. “That doesn’t explain how I found you laying in your blankets screaming at the top of your lungs or why you had a panic attack.”

“I’m getting there.” He pauses. “This is where it gets harder to believe.” He adds hesitantly, looking up at her before continuing. “The attic doors slammed shut and the walls started caving in on me. They were forcing me to move but I had no idea where I was going. It was super dark and I was starting to get a bit freaked out 'cause something was touching me and the walls were moving. Then there was this super strong wind and something started shrieking-”

“A bit freaked out?”

“Yeah kinda.”

“Not a lot freaked out?”

“No mom, jeez.”

She smiles at him “You are one strange kid.”

“Let me finish the story.” He says with an annoyed look.

“Okay sorry.”

“So I was jogging back towards the attic and there was this sound like hundreds of people screaming and this wind then all the sudden I could see and I splashed in something. When I looked down I was standing in a puddle of blood.”

He notices his mom look pointedly at the lack of blood anywhere in the room but chooses to ignore her.

“And so I started running cause puddles of blood don’t really bode well.”

She nods.

“So I was running through the blood but I wasn't getting any closer to the attic and then the blood started getting deeper and suddenly there was a river of blood that was up to my waist and getting higher and it was raining blood. So I tried to swim towards the door but something grabbed my leg and pulled me under and I tried to hold my breath but I was drowning in blood. I couldn't hold my breath any more so I screamed as loud as I could and the last thing I saw was this tangled messy black hair. Next thing I know I’m back here with you.”

His mom is nodding. “Have you considered that you were here dreaming the whole time?”

“I think I can tell the difference between a dream and reality.” He responds annoyed.

“I understand that, but you obviously didn't drown in blood because you are here, alive, talking to me and there’s no blood anywhere on you or around you.”

Frank doesn’t understand it himself but he knows it happened. “Did I dream the wardrobe opening and scattering my comics all over the floor too?” He asks with an angry tone.

“I don't know, Frank.”

He remembers something. “I had the fire poker, a flashlight, and a backpack with me.” He stands up and searches the room. None of the objects are in the room. “There was also a box full of records and an old record player up here with that stuff,” He says gesturing in the direction of the boxes in the corner. “But when I came up here to listen to them they weren’t where I left them.”

“Where were they?”

“Not up here, I can’t find them.”

“How do you lose a box of-?”

“Exactly!” He cuts her off. “I know I didn’t dream them up and I know they aren’t up here so where could they be?”

“I didn’t move them.”

“Maybe whatever’s in the wardrobe took them.”

She looks at him dubiously. “What kind of thing that lives in a wardrobe in an attic listens to records and steals backpacks?”

“You tell me.”

“How bout you tell me why none of the boxes downstairs have been moved into the garage like I remember you telling me you would do?”

“Maybe you dreamed it.” Frank says bitterly.

His mom glares at him. “Not funny.”

“Now you know how I feel.” He grumbles.

“I also know that a certain boy needs to go do what he said he would or he doesn't get dinner.”

“Oh shit I totally didn’t think about it but it’s after 5:00pm now right?”

“Yes.” She says.

“I went in the wardrobe at 8:03 and when I was inside it the hands on my watch stopped moving.” Frank looks down at his watch and excitedly waves it in Linda’s face. “Look it’s still stuck on 8:03!”

“Maybe it needs a new battery.”

“Why are you dead set on proving me wrong?”

“Because the idea of any of this being real is ridiculous!” She answers honestly.

“But it is real!”

“Frank I had a long day at work and you slept up here all day. I’m hungry and tired and I really don't have any more patience. I bought Chinese takeout and as soon as you move those boxes we can eat.”

“I don't know why I bother telling you anything.” He says sharply before tromping down stairs to deal with the boxes.

~~~~~~

There are only 9 boxes to move and Frank gets it done quickly. He also decides to give his mom a bit of grace because she got orange chicken. It’s definitely his favorite Chinese food even though she hates it. Every bite tastes like guilt until he apologizes for giving her a hard time. There’s no way it was a dream but he has come to terms with the fact that no one is likely to believe him and he decides that maybe his interactions with the wardrobe are better left unsaid.

Later that night as Frank lies in bed he thinks about the boy in the photos and his disappearance from the end of the album. He studies the photo of the boy that resides next to his alarm clock on his makeshift side table of stacked boxes. Frank wishes he could ask him what he was thinking about as he stared solemnly out the window, unaware his picture was being taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have Chapter 5 almost finished. Sorry I took so long to update! Christmas took a lot out of me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank has unique brain chemistry.

Yesterday afternoon Frank felt the most fear he’d say he’s ever felt in his life, but nothing was going to stop him from returning to the wardrobe. His curiosity would drive him insane if he just left it alone and tried to ignore it. Plus, he loved the feeling of being afraid. He had since he was young. His mom didn't understand it and it bothered her a lot. Enough so that she had scheduled his very first therapy appointment for him. . His mom is considerably less worried about it now, but Frank remembers the slightly confusing first encounter with his therapist.

_“Your mother is very worried about your writing assignments lately, Frank.” Dr. Abernathy spoke._

_“So what?” Frank crossed his arms in defiance._

_“Well most people would say that it’s unhealthy for an 8 year old to write about decapitating his best friend and burning the corpse of his zombified teacher.”_

_“I didn’t do that!”_

_“But you did write about cutting off your friends head and burning a zombie’s body.”_

_“Yeah who cares?”_

_“Well decapitation means to cut off someone’s head and a corpse is a dead body.”_

_“De-capi-tashon” Frank tried out the word. It felt awkward in his mouth. He laughed and tried again._

_“Close, but this isn’t a word you want to use.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Because decapitation and dead people are dark subject matter. Too dark for kids.”_

_“I’m not a kid. I’m a big boy.” He huffed, puffing out his chest._

_“Yes you are, but it worries adults.”_

_“Good.”_

_“No it’s not good. Kids aren’t supposed to think about death and bad things.”_

_“Well I like to.”_

_“Doesn’t it scare you?”_

_“Sometimes but I like it.”_

_“You like dark things or you like being afraid?”_

_“Both. But being scared is fun but I don't like it when Mom yells at me for scaring her.”_

_“People don’t like being scared.”_

_“I do.”_

_“Well that’s not normal.”_

_“I’m not normal?”_

_“No enjoying the feeling of being afraid is not normal. Most people don't like it. It feels bad to them.”_

_“It makes me feel.” He paused looking for an answer. “Like I’m full of electricity.”_

_“That feeling is caused by a chemical reaction in your brain. The hormone dopamine is released in response to thrilling or scary situations. Some people have a stronger flow of dopamine than others and are able to enjoy the feeling more. While some people have a limited flow of dopamine you have a limitless flow so when you are afraid you get more of a kick out of it.”_

_Frank stared up at Dr. Abernathy blankly._

_“Um, your brain has stuff in it that moves around when you are afraid called Dopamine. Some people only have a little bit then their brain puts on the brakes and no more moves around. Your brain doesn’t have brakes so you have a lot of dopamine. So you like being afraid because lots of dopamine makes you feel electric and excited.”_

_“Okay.” Frank nods. “So some people don't feel as excited as me when they are afraid so they don’t like it?”_

_“Smart boy! That’s exactly it.”_

Despite an irregular fear response, the fact that the wardrobe is above him and only about 15 feet away total is still disconcerting, but it's exciting too. He ponders what the message written in the dust was supposed to mean.

In the end he goes up there and inspects it. All it says is ‘oops’ written messily in the dust on the left door. But is it an ‘oops I almost killed you, sorry.’ or a sort of sarcastic yet sinister 'oops I tried to kill you this is a warning. Don’t come back’?

While he’s up there he notices that his backpack and his other things are leaning against the far side of the wardrobe. He’s positive they weren't there when his mom found him. When he goes through the contents of the backpack he finds that nothing is missing.

Frank tries his hardest not to be bothered by the message or the wardrobe. Technically the wardrobe is part of his house, despite the impossibility of its existence and the terrifying things that happen inside of it. Also, with his fairly high tolerance to fear (being fully submerged in blood while screaming rose all around you is a pretty fear inducing situation so you can't really blame him for the panic attack that followed) he knows that if presented the opportunity there will be no keeping him out of the dark, shifting hallways. He desperately wants to know what's around that corner and why whatever grabbed him doesn't want him back there. He finds it hard to believe that a malicious being would take records.

Today he will be extra careful. Wardrobe permitting, he will make it around that corner and find out what was keeping him from investigating yesterday. A twisted up glee bubbles in his chest and he runs downstairs... and into his mom. She's dressed and ready to head to work.

“Why are you running?”

“I’m going back inside the wardrobe and I need a headlamp. It’s ridiculously dark in there.”

Linda sighs loudly then stares at him and says, “Take your cellphone and watch out for rivers of blood.”

Frank glares at her and flips her off.

“Frank!”

“My hand slipped in a river of blood, my bad.” With that he walks out of the house and into the garage to begin digging around for a head lamp.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: more inside the wardrobe *waggles eyebrows*


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More "interesting" things happen when Frank ventures inside the wardrobe again.

Frank sifts through the mess of junk in the boxes labeled ‘garage’. In his old house the garage was always the messiest. There had been an old work bench piled with tools, wires, and parts. Stacked underneath it were all of the old buckets of paint from painting the house. In cluttered piles throughout the rest of the garage were odds and ends of stuff from their past. Things that they may never use again but can’t bear to part with like baby shoes and yearbooks.

Frank shoves away the thought of his old home and searches through the boxes until he finds the one filled with tools from the workbench. He grabs two headlamps and tromps into the house in the direction of his room. Brushing past his mom without a word, he stomps through his room and up the already opened staircase into the attic.

He pulls the first headlamp over his arms, down his shoulders, and over his shirt to rest on his upper chest. He’s thin enough for it to actually fit over the span of his chest. Cinching the other lamp tight over his forehead, he picks up his jacket and slides his arms into it. He zips it up to the lamp on his chest and walks over to the wardrobe.  Picking up the backpack with water bottles and other supplies in it, he swings it over his shoulders. Then he lifts the big yellow flashlight from its resting place next the backpack.

Frank tugs on one of the handles and to his surprise the wardrobe door swings open silently. He stares into the darkness and clicks on the headlamps and the yellow flashlight in his left hand. The light is swallowed up almost instantly. His skin is buzzing and bones feel like they are tingling, but he steps forward into the dark. He walks quickly to the right side of the corridor and brushes his arm along it as he walks. Carefully aware of the sudden veer to the right coming up shortly, he walks for maybe 10 minutes before he comes up on the abrupt turn.

Aiming his light beams at the surrounding walls, he looks for anything that might come up on him or prevent him from moving forward. All he sees is darkness surrounding him. Cautiously he steps around the corner and keeps walking forward. Nothing is stopping him from moving on down the new corridor. He lets out a breath of relief and continues walking, his shoulder occasionally brushing the wall next to him. He gets bored of walking in a straight line pretty fast and wishes he had his iPod with him.

Frank pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and clicks the button to unlock the screen. The screen lock is frozen and the buttons don’t react to pressure. He takes the back half of the case off and pops the phone open, taking the battery out and then sliding it back in. He reassembles the phone and restarts it. It is still frozen. The time in the upper corner reads 10:46AM. That must have been the time he entered the wardrobe. Distracted by his phone, he doesn't notice door frame in front of him until his nose collides with it. Yelping in pain, he rubs the bridge of his nose. He backs up and blinks away the saline gathering in his eyes before glancing down to inspect the doorframe. The shape of a small door is cut low in the wall. The top comes up to just below Frank’s eyes.

Considering Frank’s short stature, the door would have been at chin level of a regularly proportioned person. Ducking his head, he crawls through the entrance and smacks his head on the ceiling when he straightens out. Wincing, he rubs the sore spot before shining the beam of the yellow flashlight into the room and looking around.

Quite frankly he’s surprised when he sees something other than darkness. For the first time since he's entered the wardrobe he can see the walls and where he’s walking. The ceiling slants downward lazily. The passageway gets visibly smaller the longer it stretches. The floors and walls appear to be made of a dark, completely smooth material. Dark really isn’t the word for it.  Light-swallowing, abyss-like material is a more accurate descriptive.

He reaches out and flattens his fingers against the wall. He immediately jerks his hand back. He isn’t surprised that it’s cold to the touch but he _is_ shocked at just how cold it is. His hand is red from the short moment of contact with the wall.

Frank rubs his hand against his jeans to warm it up. He startles and drops his flashlight when the handle suddenly becomes too cold to hold. It hits the floor and the lense cracks.

“Shit!”

He pulls his sleeve over his hand, just in case, and picks it up. The light is flickering and Frank shakes it, clicking it on and off. There’s no way the short fall could have broken it. He takes the batteries out,  puts them back in, and tests it again. When he clicks it on, the light flares up brighter than before and he hears a popping noise before the light fizzles out. He clicks the button on and off repeatedly, disappointed when it fails to light back up.  He sets it outside the doorway and steps back inside the passage. Checking both of his headlamps, he marches on.

Soon his head brushes the ceiling and not long after that he has to bend his neck to stand up straight. He takes off his backpack and puts it on backwards so it’s hanging off his chest. He also adjusts the headlamp there so the backpack doesn’t block the beam of light. Continuing on, he’s forced lower and lower until he’s stooped over, his back scraping against the ceiling. The passage is getting rapidly smaller the further he goes. He ignores it until he’s forced to his knees on the cold and ridiculously smooth floor. It’s not as freezing as the wall had been but after a few minutes his knees are aching from the cold.

The crawling reminds him of being 6. He used to play in the crawl space under his house. When his father disappeared under the house for various maintenance tasks, Frank was consumed with curiosity. Once he’d figured out how to get the hatch in the floor open, he felt it was his duty to explore the ‘dungeon’ beneath his house. It was ridiculously dangerous and completely unsafe for a 6 year old. He managed to sneak down there 3 times before his father caught him and he was scolded. The only permanent bodily damage was to his lungs. He had pneumonia 3 times that year with various colds and illness in between. His lungs have healed considerably over the years but he coughs and rubs his chest just thinking about it. Going down alone he’d never even considered to use a respirator. What 6 year old would?

Thinking about his recently departed father makes him angry. He’s too consumed by his thoughts to notice an elevated ridge in the floor and he slams his knee into it.

“Fuck!” He yells grabbing his knee. He flexes it tentatively and rubs the sore spot. With a scowl on his face he inspects what’s sticking up out of the floor.

It’s a perfect cube about 4 inches wide made from the same material as the floor. Curious, he attempts to pick it up, only to find it’s attached to the floor. He raps his knuckles on the cube and jumps backward when it silently molds back into the floor. He brushes his hand against the place where it used to be and recoils when it burns him just like the wall had. Weird. He reaches out again and the floor is the same temperature as the rest of it. He can’t even tell where the cube had been. He rests his hand on the general area it had been in for a moment before moving onward.

The passage finally stops narrowing and levels out into a space about the size of an air duct. He cautiously tests the walls with his hands before continuing. They are all bitingly cold and he has to move carefully to prevent his shoulders and head from brushing up against them.

His headlamps flicker and the one on his head cracks and goes out. He stops in his tracks and pulls it off of his head. Clicking the button repeatedly, he tries with no avail to turn it on. Exasperated, he pulls it off his head and sits back on his heels. His knees are aching and colder than Satan’s asshole. So far he hasn’t come across anything of interest besides the cube. He sits on his ass for a moment trying to rub some warmth into his kneecaps. He gives up knowing they will just get cold again if he continues. Briefly he considers turning back, but he puts the thought out of his mind and the headlamp in the backpack on his chest.

He leans forward and immediately regrets his hand placement. Instead of hitting solid ground his hand passes through air and the weight of the backpack on his chest causes him to flip forward, falling into open space. He tries to cry out but he’s cut short by a hard landing on his back that knocks the wind out of his chest. Laying on the ground, cold biting through his coat, he chokes and struggles to replenish the wind forced from his lungs.

As he lays there heaving, he becomes vividly aware that he is not alone in the room. He can hear breathing and the longer he focuses on it the clearer it becomes. But there’s something unusual about it, and as he listens, he realizes that whatever is breathing has friends.

He scrambles up into a sitting position and blindly scoots backwards away from the breathing. The rubber soles of his shoes make loud, cringe worthy squeals against the disturbingly smooth surface of the floor. He expects his back to hit a wall or some other surface and the longer he moves backward uninterrupted, the more unnerved he becomes. Despite his entire body recoiling at the thought, he manages to force his limbs to hesitate. He holds his breath and listens for the breathing until the only thing he can hear is the blood pumping in his veins. He exhales the breath he was holding.

The breathing sounds are gone and for a split second he thinks he may have imagined it. A split second of relief is all he has before the floor underneath him dissolves and he’s falling again. This time a scream rips its way from his esophagus. The air is moving around him too fast and he can't breathe. It’s the same feeling you get when you stick your head out the window of a car going 50 mph. The roar of the wind is deafening as it violently whips his hair against his face.

Moving his arm into the break in wind flow his body is making, he loosely covers his mouth and nose to stop the rushing air, effectively preventing him from suffocating in the wardrobe a second time. His stomach is flipping around like a fish fresh out of water. The ‘life-flashing-before-your-eyes’ thing in the movies is bullshit. Here he is about to die _again_ and all he can think about is feeling like he’s about to throw up. The last thing he wants to do right now is throw up. Hitting the ground too hard and dying in a fucked up mess of vomit and splattered guts is a violent, albeit unappealing way to die. The more he thought about it, the grosser and more likely the possibility of him hurling on himself seems. Thinking about dying pushes a different thought to the front of his mind.

The last time he died in the wardrobe he woke up in his attic unharmed. Consoled by the thought, he opens his eyes. He can't see anything, his body included. He uncurls and let’s himself go limp. Arms raised above him, and body bent at the waist, he falls. Landing in this position would most likely shatter his tailbone, pelvis, and lower vertebrae. He would be crippled, stuck in agony, drifting in and out of consciousness as his internal arteries hemorrhaged. Or maybe whatever it is he heard breathing would decide not to come back and he would be left to starve to death. Considering he never got a glimpse of what was breathing, he doesn't know which is worse.

Letting go of the fear of death seems impossible, but he lets it slip from his mind and relaxes. He feels a sudden shift in gravity and everything changes. The wind is no longer whistling in his ears. It’s oddly silent. He can feel every ripple the wind makes in his clothes. He’s also hyper aware of the movement of his slightly curled hair brushing against his cheeks. When he tries to move his arms they feel stuck and he realizes he’s falling in slow motion. He feels everything in the bat of an eye. He squeezes his eyes shut and the spell is broken. He can feel the impact of his ass hitting solid ground run all the way through his legs.

A voice mumbles quietly through the space. “How did you…” It cuts off abruptly into silence.

Frank swivels his head and his eyes shoot open. It’s pretty useless to have them open considering it’s too dark to see anything, but it feels more natural than leaving them closed.

“Hello?”

He waits, body rigid, but there is no response. He didn’t expect one. He’s probably going insane.

Delicately, he flexes his legs and to his surprise and relief they move just fine. A sharp pain shoots through the base of his spine and he hisses through his teeth. The fall bruised his tailbone. He doesn’t even mind that much. He gets up awkwardly, careful of his bruised tailbone. Despite being careful, it still aches and he knows it will for a few weeks.

Once he is standing he starts to call out but a loud ‘pop’ sounds and the room instantly fills with pressure. In the between one step and the next he’s ejected back into the attic, stumbling to regain his balance. The pain in his tailbone is gone.

“How in the fuck?” He wonders aloud.

  
  
(Aaaand that’s it for today folks!)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank's mom still doesn't believe him and probably never will..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a short uneventful chapter!

Frank blinks rapidly, his eyes adjusting to being thrown from the wardrobe into the light of the attic. His knees buckle and he falls on his ass...again. He stiffens expecting to feel the soreness of his bruised tailbone but there’s no pain. Furrowing his eyebrows, he wiggles on his butt just to be sure.

“Huh.” He says out loud raising his eyebrows.

It seems the injuries he obtains in the wardrobe don't follow him into the attic. Grinning, he gets up and tromps down stairs into his room. He throws his backpack and other things on the floor next to his bed and strips off his coat while he kicks off his boots. Before he leaves his room he pulls his comforter off his bed and wraps up in it. From his room he wanders into the kitchen and makes himself a bowl of cereal which he then begins to eat. While he eats, he wonders how the fuck the wardrobe possibly even exists. Maybe he’s actually in a coma and all this has been a dream. Or maybe his life is a shitty, obscure, indie videogame still in the developing stages that went horribly wrong and he somehow became self-aware.

As he shovels a bite of soggy cornflakes into his mouth he hears his mom kick open the front door with a grunt accompanied by the sound of rustling grocery bags. He quickly spoons the last two bites into his mouth before he gets up to help her and then he stops in the middle of the hallway. His eyes widen in realization.

“What the hell.” He mumbles.

He runs back into the kitchen and looks at the time on the stove. It’s 5:30 pm. He went into the wardrobe at 10:30 ish. Hurriedly, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. The display is working like normal, no longer frozen like it had been in the wardrobe. There was no fucking way he spent over 7 hours in the wardrobe. It had felt like less than two.

He’s standing in the kitchen with his comforter around his ankles frowning at his phone when his mom stumbles into the kitchen with what looks like 8 grocery bags in each hand.

“Oh shit,” He tosses his phone on the counter and runs toward her, taking half of the bags from her.

“Thanks for the help.” She mutters sarcastically, setting her bags on the kitchen table.

“I’m really sorry, I kind of just spaced out.”

“Yeah.. Next time I come in with a million bags of groceries in my hands and you are standing in the kitchen playing with your phone, put your phone down and help me out.”

“Okay but next time you shouldn’t try to bring so many in at one time.”

She shrugs. “It saves me an extra trip.”

Frank shakes his head at her.

“So what did you do all day? You hungry? It’s almost dinner time.”

Frank glances guiltily at the bowl he had just been eating out of. His mom follows his gaze and then looks back at him, glaring.

“Frank.” She elongates the a with a warning undertone so it kind of sounds like ‘Fraaaaank’ 

He laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck.

“Why did you eat a bowl of cereal right before dinner?”

“I didn’t realize what time it was.”

“What were you doing that made you lose track of time?”

Frank drops the hand from his neck, suddenly upset. “I told you this morning, not that you believe me.” He says pointedly.

Anger clouds her eyes. “Give it a rest with this shit, Frank. It’s not fun. You are 16 years old, it’s about time you stopped living in your head and started living in the real world like the rest of us.”

“You-” Frank cuts off and balls his hands into fists. “Ugh!” He shouts at her before grabbing his phone off the counter, scooping up his duvet, and marching out of the the kitchen, down the hall, and into his room.

Right before he slams the door he hears her yell, “At least clean up your cereal mess!” down the hall. He ignores her and slams his door anyway.

He drops his duvet and stomps back and forth across his room clenching and unclenching his fists. Then he huffs and kicks at his backpack. He’s not cold or in pain like he had been in the wardrobe but he _is_ tired. He walks over to his bed and falls face forward onto it horizontally. His legs are hanging off it and putting a weird strain on his knees but he doesn't care.

Why was it so hard for adults to have a little faith and believe things that they can't always see? His mom was a devout catholic. She believed in a god that she had never seen or heard proof of but she couldn’t expand her faith a little to _try_ and believe him?

He punches his mattress and pulls his legs up onto it, turning and stretching out on it normally. Laying on his back he stares at the old ceiling, discolored and full of cracks. Ugh. He pulls his pillow over his head and listens to himself breathe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s woken up less than an hour later by a loud thud above him. Once he processes what just happened, he springs out of bed and grabs the fire poker he had discarded on the floor earlier. He lofts it in defense and slowly pulls down the staircase. Climbing up a few stairs he pokes his head into the attic and glances around. There is nothing out of place.

Frowning in disappointment, he climbs all the way into the attic just to make sure. He even inspects the dust on the wardrobe for any new messages. There aren’t any. He tugs on the door and to his shock, it swings open. He peeks his head in but he’s too tired to attempt going inside again. He shuts it and opens it again to see if it had locked itself. It hadn’t. Unnerved that it’s no longer locked, he closes the door again. Maybe whatever he heard talking wants him to come back. Living inside a wardrobe in the attic of a shitty old house in the middle of the woods can't be that exciting. He sighs and climbs back stairs and into bed. He pulls his covers over his head and promises himself that tomorrow he would enter again and this time find something amazing.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank confronts his most entertaining discovery and most horrifying wardrobe experience yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a bit of violence and if you are afraid of figures resembling medical doctors gone wrong, you should probably not read this chapter. If you are skipping this chapter, read the last three paragraphs for an important plot event.

Frank wakes up at 6:00 am on Saturday morning with excitement bubbling in his chest. Something amazing is going to happen today. He can feel it in his bones. It might have been because of the amazing dream he had. He can't really remember it but he assumes it was a good dream because he was left with a glowy feeling and morning wood. He’d made short work of that and then showered. Now he’s in the kitchen, dressed and ready to start his day with a vegetarian breakfast sandwich. They are the frozen ones with cheese and a fake sausage on an english muffin. The kind that most people hate, but he has been eating them since he was in 5th grade.

He throws one in the microwave then quietly shuts the door and sets the time. Normally on the weekends he takes time to make something better than a frozen breakfast sandwich but he wants to be in and out of the wardrobe before his mother realizes he is gone. She usually sleeps in until noon or later. Saturdays are her only day off. He takes the sandwich out of the microwave and barely lets it cool before he scarfs it down.

His backpack and flashlights are still on the floor where he had dropped his things and shed his coat the day before. The broken lights are still inside but who the fuck knows where the giant yellow flashlight is. He had been teleported out before he had a chance to grab it. He slides on his coat and shoes before he grabs the backpack and fire poker. Then he pulls down the staircase and walks into the attic, straight towards the wardrobe.

The yellow flashlight is sitting next to it. When he tries clicking it on and off he finds it works just like normal. He pulls off his backpack and tries the headlamps he had thrown in it previously. They still work too. Huh. He puts them on the same way he had the day before and then tries the wardrobe door. It’s still unlocked and he steps inside.

He always leaves the door open behind him and he finds it surprising that the attic never gets cold. It feels like a refrigerator inside the wardrobe. He steps in and starts to follow the wall but he stops when the doors slam shut behind him and all of his lights blink out. Fuck. He turns around a puts out his hands to try and feel the doors or a way back into the attic. The wall is smooth just like all the other surfaces. It’s as if the door disappeared completely. It’s honestly not as unnerving as it sounds. It’s not much different than having no light at all. The walls are all black and it made even illuminated surfaces look light absorbing and dark. He stops when his foot hits another solid wall.

The inside of the wardrobe is not the same as it had been before. The giant hallway doesn’t lead on it stops after about 6 feet and turns to the left this time. Shrugging, he keeps feeling his way along the wall but he hits another dead end. He just keeps blindly following the walls. His hand brushes against something that feels like hair and he jerks back. When he hears a short cough he steps backwards.

“Hello?”

No response. Shivering, he slowly reaches out again only to feel the flat surface of the wall. He frowns in the dark and keeps walking. It doesn’t take very long for him to understand he is trapped in a small room with no way out. It really starts to sink in when he realizes he's never actually walked out of the wardrobe before. Once he goes in he doesn't come out until he experiences some terrible death inducing incident or he gets kicked out. Being encased in a 6 by 8 room with no windows or doors doesn't give him much of a chance to do either. Fuck.

He finds a corner and sits down before pulling his backpack off and searching through his things. There’s an unopened bottle of water, a pocket knife, a compass, and now his two head lamps.  He opens the water and sips it, not because he's thirsty but because he has nothing better to do. Next he takes out the compass and shines the light from the frozen screen of his phone on it. The needle is spinning in circles in the water. His phone screen says 2% battery but it’s been frozen since he got trapped. He watches the compass, mesmerized, until the water turns cloudy and red and he drops it with a start. Panic rises and he feels trapped. He is trapped and he knows it, but dwelling on it will just make things worse. It bounces against the floor but does not break. He picks it back up and inspects it. The water is completely normal.

He watches it spin until he calms down a bit and stops feeling like he’s going to hyperventilate. The fragile calm is shattered when his phone battery dies, plunging him into total darkness. It’s like something out of a horror movie. His heart beats faster in his chest and he breathes in and out through his mouth trying to calm himself. It makes him completely vulnerable but he scoots away from the wall and stretches out on his back. He closes his eyes and focuses on anything but his situation. He imagines he's back in his attic and that it was all a dream.

He focuses his mind on imagining the tiny bare bulb that hangs from the right side of the attic. He wants more than anything for it to be there. It’s not great illumination wise but he desperately wishes he had _any_ sort of light. Just something that would counteract the stifling darkness around him. His eyelids change from black to red and his eyes spring open. There’s a small light bulb hovering above his face.

“Oh shit!”

He sits up fast and reaches out to touch it. He pulls it towards him and it comes willingly through the air. He manages to wrap his fingers around the glowing bulb. Holding it in his hand is like holding a life line. He knows he made it immediately. He can feel a strange energy when he holds it almost as if it’s an extension of himself. He imagines a blue light bulb like the ones from his old room and after a struggle it pops into existence. Laughing excitedly, he makes a red light too. He tries to make a green one as well but as soon as it appears he feels exhausted and the original light blinks out.

The room is darker without the white light but the colored ones look cooler. He makes them hover in the air and spins them around leaving purple spots in his vision from watching them. He tries to add a purple light to the mix but as soon as it appears he feels fatigued and the blue one blinks out. He can only maintain three lights at a time.

He feels an unsettled apprehension fill the room and his entire collection of lights blink out. He’s not tired but every time he makes a light something extinguishes it. Nervous, he stands and tries to make a larger light to illuminate the room. He sees a flash of movement before it blinks out again. Heart beating faster, he tries to make any form of light but only small sparks appear before blinking out. Fuck. He goes back to the corner and stands against the wall, listening hard. He’s in complete darkness now without even his cellphone. He stares into the darkness, frozen.

Between one blink and the next, a crack appears in the wall and there’s a light filtering into the tiny cell Frank is currently trapped in. He moves toward it with his hands outstretched in case he falls. When he touches the other side of the room with his hands and looks closely he can see the light is coming in through a long thin crack in the wall leading into another room. It’s thinner than the gap under a door and it appears to run very deeply through the wall.  He has a limited range of vision and can only see a very thin portion of the room beyond.

If he squints hard enough he can make out a figure moving around in the other room. His first instinct is to call out to the figure for help but he extinguishes it and watches silently. He’s incredibly glad he didn’t make a sound when moments later he hears metal brushing against metal and a wailing noise sounding from a corner of the room he can’t see. He watches with a morbid horror as a figure in a white coat moves across his peripheral vision towards where the noise came from. The figure moves out of sight and Frank hears a scared whimper closely followed by a quiet chuckle.

When a shriek followed by a wet slicing noise, more laughter cuts through the air. Blood pools and spreads into his line of sight and he gasps loudly. The laughter goes silent and Frank moves away from the crack, holding his breath. Not that it would matter, his heart is pounding so hard in his chest that the masculine shape in white can probably hear it through the wall. Frank waits a few minutes before peeking at the crack again. There’s a dark human-ish outline standing in front of the crack and a shriek freezes in Frank’s throat. He doesn’t move for fear of being noticed. His room is darker than the room holding the figure so he prays he isn’t being seen. He stands frozen waiting for the person to move away.

There is another chuckle accompanied by a whispered growl of a voice.

“Are you scared little dove?”

Frank’s eyes go even wider and he scrambles quickly away from the wall. He rests his back against the wall opposite the crack, breathing hard, and wishes that the opening would seal up. When it doesn’t automatically seal, he panics. Desperate to close it, he extends a hand towards it. He’s too afraid to think about how stupid the Star Wars worthy ‘force’ hand gesture he makes at the wall looks. He doesn’t even care a second later when the crack seals shut.

He giggles loudly with relief when the room goes dark again. He focuses on keeping the wall shut and tries to regenerate the lightbulb that disappeared out of existence when he closed the wall. His efforts are successful but he panics again when he hears a loud grinding noise and a larger crack opens up in the wall next to him. He spins sideways away from it and looks down it from afar. This one is much larger and he can now see the disfigured features belonging to the figure in white grinning back at him. The... thing.. turns as if it is going to crawl through the crack

“Oh hell fucking no.”

Frank grimaces and reaches out towards the crack, willing it to shut.

It grinds closed but this time he doesn't relax. He can feel a sort of tension behind his eyes from keeping both openings sealed and a light hovering in the air. He doesn’t move an inch as he counts the seconds in his head. He counts up to 470 before he starts to let the tension fall from his shoulders. His head is starting to ache.

He slouches against the wall behind him and closes his eyes. There’s no way in hell he’s going to let that nasty thing kill him so he can get back to his attic. He feels everything in here. He could conjure pills or a gun or something and maybe get out that way. Fuck, he doesn’t want to do that either. Sighing, he smacks his head against the wall behind him.

Shortly after he hears creaking next to his head and his eyes shoot open. He spins around and tries to walk backwards but he trips over his feet and falls on the floor with his legs tangled in front of him. With his heart in his throat, he snaps his head up. There is a metal door in the wall squealing on its hinges as it swings towards him revealing the man limping in his direction with a grin plastered on his face. There are thick scars marring his face and visible skin and as Frank stares in horror he notices that the man, if you can even call it that, has no pupils.

Frank makes a startled choking noise and uses his left foot to kick the door shut hard. He scrambles to his feet and thinks quickly, he points a finger at the outline of the door and imagines it melting into the walls of the rest of the room. As the seal finishes, the pressure behind his eyes increases significantly and his ears pop as his light disappears. The thing behind the door knocks almost politely before calling out, voice distorted by the metal of the door.

“You are quite an attractive young man. What is your name?”

Frank is quiet.

“Oh come now child I mean you no harm.”

He remains silent and stares into the darkness. With the light out he can’t see the door or anything else around him. He is momentarily blinded when an overhead light turns on, illuminating the room.

“Fuck.”  He whispers aloud as he scrambles back against the wall and darts his eyes around, quickly taking in his new surroundings.

He is in a room made of bare cement walls and floors with a buzzing fluorescent light set into the ceiling that casts a harsh blue-ish white glow on everything, making it seem cold and desolate. The room has a drain in the middle of the floor. He quickly focuses his eyes back on the door which now has a square glass window with metal wire crossing through it. The man is looking in on him and he has never felt more trapped in his entire life.

“You have a very repulsive vocabulary, child."

Frank glares at him.

“Are you ever going to speak?”

Frank ignores him and squints up at the light. It’s so bright its hurting his head. He frowns up at it until it dims and softens into a more comfortable yellowish glow.

“My my that’s impressive.” The man glances up at the light and it returns to its blinding white state.

Frank resists the urge to growl at the man and discreetly points his fingers at the window in the door. He conjures a blind to cover the window and focuses all his energy on keeping it there. He can feel something poking at his mind it as if testing his ability to keep the blind in place. Two can play at that game. He pushes back forcefully against whatever is prodding his mind. For a second the room disappears back into the blackness of the wardrobe before springing back into the sterile cement cell. Shit. He pushes out as hard as he can. Everything disappears and he’s back in the 4 walled room by himself

“How the _fuck_ did you just do that?”

A different voice calls angrily at him and Frank swivels to look behind him in the direction of the voice. It’s the same voice he had heard after his fall. He catches a glimpse of dark messy hair and an extremely familiar face before he’s booted somewhat violently back into his attic.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank FINALLY meets the cause of all the trauma inside the wardrobe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M REALLY SORRY THIS TOOK ALMOST A MONTH TO FINISH I DIDN'T EVEN HAVE WRITERS BLOCK I WAS JUST IN A SHITTY MOOD FOR A MONTH STRAIGHT. I HOPE THIS CHAPTER MAKES UP FOR IT!

The first thing Frank does when he gets back in the attic is run down stairs and grab the photograph off of the box next to his bed.

“Holy shit.” He whispers. It’s him. The thing in the wardrobe is the boy from the pictures, Gerard. Frank runs back up the stairs, stumbling onto his hands and knees as he bounds up the steps. He runs straight to the wardrobe and pounds on it with his fist.

“Dude open up.”

There is no response.  
  
“Seriously I’m like re-evaluating my life right now. What the fuck is going on.”

He bangs on it again.

“I will burn this thing down I swear to god.”

The door swings outward towards Frank smacking him in the chest. It’s still dark as fuck. For the first time ever he walks inside with no apprehension.

“Okay also cut the shit and come talk to me.”

He hears a sigh and the wardrobe goes from an abyss to a rocky ledge with magma undulating below it. He’s standing right on the edge and he can feel the heat on his face.

“Not cool.” Frank says and steps back. “I seriously do not want to burn to death right now.”

He hears a voice from behind him. “If you _did_ want to burn to death I’d be concerned.”

Frank spins around. “Oh Jesus.”

“It’s actually-”  
  
“Gerard, yeah I know.”

Gerard glares at him. “Only because you snoop through other peoples things.”

“That’s not true, I bought the house. Anything in it is mine now.”

“You’re like 12. You didn't buy my house.”

“Yeah well my mom did.” Frank responds irritably. “Also I’m 16.”

“You look 12.”

“Thanks at least I don't look like an emo ass weirdo with an old man name that lives in a box in someone’s attic.”

Gerard covers his heart with a hand. “Oooh Tidbit’s got a sharp tongue.”

“The _fuck_ did you just call me.”

“Tid-bit.” Gerard over enunciates the syllables with a grin.

“I will throw your emo ass into the magma below us.”

“Good luck with that.”

“You are such a dick.”

Gerard just shrugs.

Frank shakes his head. “Whatever I have a shit ton of questions.”

“Ask them. I’m not sure how good my answers will be.”

“Where do I even start? Um, I guess my first one is how this is even possible?”

“You are asking the wrong guy.”

Frank sighs. “Okay, then what even are you? Those pictures were from the 1980’s.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your photo albums. You were born in 1970-”

“1969.” Gerard corrects.

Frank stops and glares at him for a few seconds before continuing. “As I was saying, you were born in the 70’s and then you stopped showing up in pictures in 1988. You look just like you did in 1988. Is this some kind of separate dimension where you don't age? I mean all of this should be impossible like check this out.”

Frank makes the light appear and then lets it blink out.

“Well I know for sure I’m dead so I’m assuming time went on without me. What year is it?”

Frank looks startled. “Wait what? You’re dead?”

“Yeah. Again what year is it?”

“Dude chill about the year. How did you die?”

“Like that’s any of your fucking business? Tell me what year it is.”

“It’s 2015.”

“Jesus. Has it really been that long?”

“What do you mean? It’s not actually that long of a time period. 1988 to 2015 is-”

“I can do math, I know how long it's been.”

Frank throws up his hands. “God you don't need to be so defensive. I’m the first person you have seen in twenty-seven years. Why are you acting like such an asshole? I mean you tortured me in here enough the first few times I was here, lay off.”

Gerard sighs. “Yeah your right.” He layers on the sarcasm. “Maybe all the self-pity and self-loathing I’ve had time to dwell on these past twenty-seven years is fucking me up.”

Frank grins at him. “I’m sure your untimely demise probably added to the unrest. Would you say you are a vengeful spirit?”

Gerard rolls his eyes and tries to keep back a smile but it breaks through anyway. “Yeah I guess I would say that. After all how often do you get to say something like that and have it be true. What I meant about it being a long time is that it hasn’t felt that long at all.”

Frank nods. “I think time passes faster in here. I go in for what feels like an hour and when I get out four have passed.”

“That would make sense considering it hasn’t really felt like twenty-seven years.” He responds thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

“Do you think we could sit down or something? I’m over the whole magma cliff vibe.”

Gerard laughs and Frank hears something hit the ground behind him. Spinning to look, he sees a kid sized patio chair and turns back to Gerard glaring.

“Really man?”

Gerard bends over wheezing slightly from laughing so hard. “Oh my god the look on your face.”

Frank looks unamused.

“C’mon that was a good one. A toddler sized chair for your toddler sized body.”

Frank tries not to crack a grin as kicks the chair into the lava and walks ‘menacingly’ towards Gerard who is still smiling at him. “You’re next.”

Gerard puts his hands up and steps backwards. “Oh no Frankie not the magma pit. Please don’t throw me in the magma pit. I don’t want to die, _again_.”

Frank laughs before stopping himself and trying to return to his dead pan as he cracks his knuckles. “That baby chair was the last straw, Gerard.”

Gerard wiggles his fingers at Frank and Frank feels something on his head. He reaches up and pulls it off. It’s a fucking baby bonnet.

“Oh my god you _dick.”_

Frank lunges at Gerard who’s currently doubled over laughing so hard he feels like he’s going to piss himself. When Frank gets about a foot away, Gerard stands up and shouts “You’ll never get me alive!” Before flinging himself off the edge to Frank’s startled horror. He runs to the edge and looks over. He almost jumps out of his skin when he hears laughter and feels Gerard tap his shoulder.

Frank turns around with a glare and grabs Gerard’s arm before pulling him off balance and shoving him over the edge. Gerard looks startled but then he grins and grabs Frank’s hand pulling him down after him. Frank shouts in surprise and tumbles over the edge towards the magma that rapidly shifts into a blue stunt landing pad; the kind you see on movie sets. Gerard lands first and doesn’t have enough time to roll out of the way before Frank lands on top of him squishing the air out of him. Frank scrambles upright and climbs over Gerard and onto the ground.

“Oh my god that was so fun.” Frank says excitedly. “How do you do that? If I tried to do something like that my head would explode!”

Gerard sits up and rubs his chest where Frank’s shoulder had knocked the air out of him. “Well I guess I kind of made this place so it would make sense that I would be able to manipulate it better than you. I’m also dead.”

Frank nods considering. “So you can do pretty much whatever you want right?”

“Yeah pretty much.”

“So was it you who was making all that weird shit and trying to scare me?”

“What do you mean ‘trying’? You were scared shitless.”

Frank ignores him. “So that was you pretending to be that creepy ass horror movie surgeon?”

Gerard goes silent.

“What was all that ‘little dove’ and ‘attractive young man’ shit?”

Gerard blushes slightly and shrugs. “I thought if I could scare you enough you would stop coming back. I figured "psycho surgeon" would do the trick.”

“Well you thought wrong. I love shit like that.”

“You ruined it though. I didn’t know you would be able to change things like I could.'

“Well I can.” Frank grins and gestures at the ground under Gerard’s feet creating a deep puddle which Gerard sinks into with a splash and a shout of surprise.

“Oh my god what was that for?” Gerard asks moodily, climbing out of the puddle and shaking out his hair.

“Acting like a freaky ass surgeon and for the fact you were probably planning on chopping me up or some shit.”

“Fair enough.”

Between one blink and the next Gerard is dry again.

“So are those the clothes you died in?”

Gerard looks down at the Smiths t-shirt and jeans he’s wearing and nods. “Yeah actually they are.”

“Can you change your outfit or are you stuck in that?”

“I can change it, this is just one of my favorite shirts.”

“You died in your favorite shirt? Man that sucks ass.”

“Yeah.” Gerard says quietly and looks down.

“Sorry that’s probably a touchy subject.”

“Yeah.” He repeats still staring at the ground.

Frank looks at Gerard hard with the full intent of changing Gerard’s shirt into a pink blouse with lace edging to get him back for the bonnet but his mind gets off track and he may have accidently imagined Gerard shirtless instead because that’s how he ends up.

Gerard looks up sharply and the Smiths t-shirt reappears and covers him. “What the fuck?”

Frank stutters out an explanation. “I- oh my god this must seem so weird- I was just trying to change it to something girly so I could laugh at it and change the subject. I didn’t mean-“

“The only way that would have happened is if you had imagined me shirtless.” Gerard says raising an eyebrow.

“Well I- What? No. Something must have just gone wrong.” Frank mutters blushing.

Gerard laughs at him. “Whatever you say, Frank.”

“Yeah…” Frank changes the subject. “So uh, there was a box of records in the attic when I first moved in. I’m guessing those were yours?”

“Who else’s would they have been?”

“I don’t know. You had a brother.”

“Mikey had his own collection.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation drops off and they stare at each other awkwardly in silence.

Frank speaks again. “So how come they were in the attic and not in here with you when I got here?”

“It’s really hard on me to leave here. For example if I go in the attic I start to fizz out kind of. Since you were up there moving around there was residual energy for me to lock onto and it gave me the extra strength to grab the boxes and get back inside. It kind of works the same in here. When you are closer I can do larger more detailed things like the surgeon or the cliff.”

“So what? Are you draining my energy?”

“I don’t know do you feel tired?”

“Not really. I feel super tired when I get out though.”

“Maybe I’m just absorbing it and you can’t tell when you are inside.”

“Fuck!” Frank exclaims.  “I should really get back. My mom is going to be pissed.”

“Oh right.”

“Yeah.”

“So uh see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah totally.” Frank thinks about it for a minute and then curses. “Shit I actually start school tomorrow.”

Gerard looks at him in sympathy. “Oh man that sucks.”

“Yeah but if I don’t have much homework I’ll definitely visit.”

“Sweet sounds like a plan.”  
  
They watch each other silently for a few moments before Gerard makes the wardrobe doors appear and swing open. Frank smiles and waves goodbye before stepping through. When he turns back to close them Gerard is already gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank starts school and spends more time with Gerard.

Frank’s first day of school is, well its school. It’s uneventful, legally required, hell and he’s chum in the water. Frank _hates_ being a new kid. The kids at Juniper Avenue High were all overly eager to meet the new kid. When he had walked into class that morning at least half the class had raised their hands and offered to be his student guide. The look of hungry interest in their eyes unnerved him so he had declined the help and instead walked to the back of the room where the only kid that hadn’t looked up when he had been introduced was busy scribbling out the previous nights homework.

“Can I sit here?” He’d asked.

The kid with the afro and ACDC shirt shrugged his shoulders and nodded giving Frank a once over. That had been it. The kid didn’t stare at him or chatter about how great a school it was or lie about how he was going to love it here or try to get him to join any clubs. Frank had a feeling the kid didn’t belong to any clubs anyway.

“My name is Frank.”

“Ray.” Ray replied dropping his pencil to offer a hand to shake.

And that had been that. Ray didn’t seem to mind the new company and even let him follow him around all day. The only class they didn’t share was English.

Now that he is home 7 hours later the majority of his day is already gone and his mom will be back in a few hours. He doesn’t even bother to kick off his shoes at the door he just scuffs them against the rug in the entryway and tromps down the hall to his room. He tugs down the stairs to the attic and wonders briefly if ghosts need to sleep before knocking on the wardrobe door. The door swings open silent like usual and Frank walks inside. Today it just looks like a normal bedroom. It actually looks like his bedroom except it’s full of outdated furniture and there are posters littering the walls.

“Hey.” He says walking towards Gerard

He’s sitting sideways on his bed with his back against the wall drawing but when Frank tries to see what it is the whole sketchpad vanishes and he blinks up at Frank before straightening up.

“How was school?” He asks looking at the backpack still on Frank’s back.

“Mind numbingly slow and uneventful.”

“So an average day.”

“Yeah.”

“You know you don’t need to knock. You can just come in whenever.”

“What if you were jerking off or something?”

Gerard lets out a bark like laugh of surprise. “Oh my god.”

“Do ghosts jerk off? _Can_ they even jerk off?”

Gerard shakes his head in amusement. “I’ll let you figure that one out on your own.”

Frank furrows his brows in confusion. “You want me to jerk you off?”

Gerard flushes red and slaps a hand over his face. “That’s not what I meant! Everyone dies and you can figure it out when _you_ die!”

“Oh right that makes sense too.”

They look at each other for a minute before Frank speaks again. “So if that sketchpad wasn’t real then how do you save what you are drawing?”

Gerard shrugs. “I don’t.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“Something to pass the time I guess. It’s not like I’d have anyone to show or a place to keep it anyway.”

Frank unshoulders his backpack and pulls out a notebook and a box of colored pencils. “Now you do.” He says and hands them to Gerard.

Gerard hesitates for a second before taking it with a small smile. “Thank you. It’s been a while since I’ve actually drawn on real paper with real pencils.”

“I’ll never understand how that works.” Frank says shaking his head in amusement.

“I probably won’t either.”

“When you said you had nowhere to keep it what did you mean?”

“Well all of this stuff is just from my imagination. It’s substantial,” He knocks on the bedframe. “and you can use it like real things, but if you let it slip it all fades away.” He demonstrates by making the whole room disappear. Frank starts and scoots sideways. They are left standing in a cramped dark space and he’s sardined up against Gerard.

“This is what it looks like when I’m not manipulating anything.”

“So it’s like a real wardrobe then?” Frank hopes his breath doesn’t stink because he is definitely breathing in Gerard’s face.

“Exactly.”

Frank spots the record player from the attic in the corner behind Gerard and stands on his tip toes to look around him to see it better. “So real things just stay in here?” He asks settling back on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah.”

“That’s kind of cool.” He’s beginning to notice how Gerard’s chest brushes against his anytime either of them breathe. It’s starting to make him feel like he would around someone he was taking to the movies for the first time. Nervous excitement. They stand there looking at each other in the dark until Gerard clears his throat and brings back the room before Frank gets too flustered.

Gerard sits back down on his bed.

“So how did you end up in here?” Frank asks.

“I died.”

“No I got that part I mean like how did you get inside the wardrobe.”

Gerard shrugs his shoulders. “When I was dumped in here with my own corpse I was stuck for who knows how long. It felt like maybe a week but I couldn’t do anything but sit there and watch myself decompose. When the jag off that killed me finally decided to move me, I followed my body to where he buried it but he burned it first. I guess in a way it cut the tie and it drained me so much that I kind of faded away into nothing. When I woke back up I was in here. Any time I tried to leave I’d start to fade again and then just wake up a few hours later back in here. I figured I must have imprinted on the wardrobe while my body was in here so I just kind of accepted it.”

 “Holy shit so you were murdered!”

Gerard stares at him. “No I dumped my own cadaver in a wardrobe after I killed myself.”

Frank stares back at him. “Wha- Oh. Sarcasm. Real nice.”

Gerard cackles and grins at him. “For a minute you thought I was being serious!”

“Well who the fuck knows I mean look at where we are. Moving your own corpse doesn’t seem like such an impossible thing.”

“Yeah I guess that’s true.” Gerard watches Frank stand there and look back at him. “You know you can sit down somewhere and relax.”

Frank looks around for somewhere to sit before remembering he can just make something and creates a giant beanbag chair. He flops on top of it and wiggles around till he’s comfy and when he looks at Gerard again Gerard is watching him with a smile.

“What?”

“You’re like a puppy.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?”

Gerard grins and shrugs again. “Just an observation.”

“So you think I’m cute?” Frank asks in a falsetto, batting his eyelashes.

“I hate dogs.”

Frank stops messing around. “Are you serious?”

“Hell fuck no. I’d never hate a dog.”

Frank giggles and mocks Gerard. “Hell fuck no I ain’t never hated a canine.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hell fuck no.”

“Keep it up, Frank. I’ll boot your ass out for being annoying.”

“You’re such a killjoy.”

Gerard flips him off and Frank grins.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “I mean one about your death.”

Gerard’s expression is guarded but he nods permission.

“You said you were with him when he- you know, buried you. Are you buried on the property?”

Gerard looks relieved it isn’t to invasive of a question. “Yeah actually. I’m in the woods about a half mile away from the house. It’s in small orchard were I used to-” Gerard stops and his eyes go blank.

“Where you?” Frank prods gently.

Gerard shakes his head. “Never mind.”

Frank drops it. “Do you think if I walked across your grave you would feel it?”

Gerard shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not sure if anyone has even walked on it before. No one ever found me and the guy can see it from his house.”

Frank desperately wants to ask which orchard it’s in because there are at least 3 on the property. Each one is in a separate cardinal direction. Instead of asking he settles for a joke. “If I ever happen to be in the orchard you are buried in I’ll walk on your grave so you can find out.”

“Wow how kind of you.” Gerard states sarcastically.

“So how did you figure out how to like manipulate stuff?”

“It was almost more like I made it possible in a way. I don’t know. Spending all eternity in a cramped ass wardrobe just didn’t seem like an option and the more pissed off I got about it the more I could feel this sort of-” He pauses and waves a hand looking for the word. “ _energy_ building. Then it kind of just-,” Gerard makes a popping noise with his mouth and an explosion gesture with his hands. “happened.”

“What happened?”

“You know like all the sudden I wasn’t just in the wardrobe I was back in my room exactly where I’d been wishing I was. I thought it was my actual room at first but then I noticed it was more like a set with props.”

“How so?”

“Well this is just from memory. If you opened a drawer it would be empty until I specifically think of or remember an item being in it.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask another question?”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Don’t you have school work to do?”

“Yeah,” Frank sighs looking at the backpack that he’d discarded on the floor. “I wonder what time it is back in hell.”

“It’s probably been an hour. So since school gets out at 3:30 then you probably got here around 4:00. If it’s been an hour in here it’s probably around 8:00 at night out there.”

“Fuck! My mom is going to kill me.”

Gerard looks disappointed. “You should probably go then.”

“Yeah I really need too.” Frank gets the incredible urge to hug Gerard goodbye but as he passes him to collect his backpack and leave he realizes that it would be incredibly weird to either ask Gerard to get up and hug him or to try and awkwardly side hug him. So he lets the thought pass and slings his bag over his shoulder.

“Thanks for visiting again.” Gerard says with a small smile.

“Yeah of course.” Frank counters with a return smile. “It was awesome to talk to you. Maybe if I do homework during lunch and tell my mom I have plans after school I could stay longer next time.”

“That would be awesome.”

“So I’ll probably bother you tomorrow too if that’s okay.”

“Yeah feel free to drop in whenever. It’s not like I ever _wont_ be here.”

“I wish I could take you with me.”

“You would get annoyed with me pretty fast.”

“Nah I doubt it.”

The words Gerard doesn’t say are ‘It would work if I imprinted on you’. Instead he shrugs and gives a small smile before waving goodbye and opening the wardrobe doors.

“See you tomorrow, Gee.”

Frank doesn’t catch Gerard’s look of confused amusement at the nickname as he walks through the doors back into his attic.

He makes his way into the kitchen where he finds his mother ranting frantically into the phone; most likely to one of her friends.

“He just walked into the kitchen, Jan. I have to go. I’ll call you later.” She hangs up the phone and turns on him going from frantic to pissed in a second. “Where the fuck were you.”

Frank really knows she’s pissed when he hears the profanity. She doesn’t curse often. “At a friend’s house?” Frank tries to lie but he’s never been good at it and she sees right through it.

“Bullshit. Tell me the truth before I smack you.”

Frank throws up his hands and steps back. “You’ll smack me if I tell you the truth too!”

“Frank-,” She starts, warning in her voice.

“Fine fine fine. I was in the attic.”

“I looked up there when I got home.” She says angrily.

“I was inside that wardrobe.”

The anger drains from her face and tiredness replaces it. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Frank but I’m sick of it. If you are having problems adjusting and this is your way of coping I can deal with that but I think I should look for a new therapist for you.”

“Mom no!”

“You are delusional! What else am I supposed to do?”

“I’m not!” He shouts back at her.

“You talk about a locked wardrobe that turns into rooms full of blood and screaming and you disappear for hours and won’t tell me where you have gone. Any parent would be upset. You can’t expect me not to be.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t believe me.”

“Prove it to me then. Show me this fantastic magic wardrobe with passages and blood rain.”

“I’ll try but I can’t control when Gera- when it opens.”

She eyes him suspiciously but follows him when he turns back down the hall to his room and into the attic. Approaching the wardrobe, he knocks like always and the doors swing open enough for him to catch a glimpse of Gerard’s pleasantly surprised face. Then Gerard notices his mom walking up behind him. His face goes dark and the doors slam shut without a sound.

“Wait!” Frank says pulling on the doors. They don’t budge and Frank curses and rests his head against it before he turns around to face his mother.

She’s watching him with her hand on her hip. “Locked?”

Frank nods miserably and pulls on the handle again. To his surprise it actually swings open but it’s not the wardrobe he is used to seeing. It’s the actual wardrobe and inside is the record player and Frank’s notebook and pencils.

“I’ve seen enough.” She states before turning and going back down the steps.

“Mom!” He says hurrying after her but she’s in his doorway.

“Dinner’s in the fridge. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” She mutters in a curt tone before walking down the hall to her room and closing her door.

“Well fuck,” He sighs into an empty room. He walks to where he dropped his bag and tosses it on his bed, flopping down after it. When he looks at his alarm clock it reads 9:08. Great. He still has an hour and a half of school work to do. He notices the picture next to it and wonders if it’s weird that he keeps a photograph of Gerard on his night stand especially now that he knows who it is. He decides that it’s okay. It’s not like he’s staring at it for hours or jacking off to it so it’s not a big deal… Right? 


End file.
